Dungeon Heart: Halls of Stone, page 15
It truly baffled Smit how they thought that there would be no repercussions for ignoring the riddle and simply breaking down the door. The door itself literally had a warning against ignoring the verbal puzzle. He didn’t put the warnings up just for fun; they were meant to be read.
Or could it be that the adventurers were too stupid to read...?
Dear gods, I hope not, Smit thought, aghast. High rank adventurers are surely not that incompetent. Right?
After pausing to think about it, he decided it was more likely that they had underestimated Smit, or perhaps they had forgotten about the warning in their frustration. Either way, that would teach them a lesson that they would not soon forget.
Grumbling to himself, Smit crossed his arms as he sank in thought.
“Father!” Arturus said as he bounded up to him, his wide furry tail wagging happy as could be. “I have done it!”
Pulling himself away from his thoughts, Smit turned to his newest child and blinked. “Oh? Already? I did not think you would work out a solution this quick. Tell me, what have you come up with?”
Puffing out his chest, Arturus sat down proudly. “It was hard to manage and coordinate two separate species at once, but once you realize you don’t need to relay orders to both constantly, it’s a lot easier. I can give the wolves some set of instructions to follow and then the bears another. Then, as the situation changes, I can just switch back and forth between instructing them.”
“Hmm... sounds reasonable,” Smit said thoughtfully. “But what if the situation changes too quickly? Wouldn’t having to switch back and forth between the two species take too long?”
Arturus nodded vigorously, agreeing with Smit. “Yes and no. I figured out that as long as I can see the ones I command, I can pretty much contact them instantly. But if I can’t see them directly, my instructions are not as clear and take a few seconds longer to reach them. I am not sure why it works like that, but as long as I can see them, it should be fine. It’s just a matter of me being able to react and think fast enough at this point.”
Smit hummed, looking over Arturus. “I see. Still, I would recommend that you work on your spatial awareness if that’s the case. The more and better aware you are of your surroundings, and the surroundings of those you command, the better it will be for you and for them.”
“Spatial awareness?” Arturus asked, his ears rising up as he tasted the words. The look of confusion was clear, but the face of a giant, fluffy, bear-wolf tilted to the side with curious eyes was rather... disconcerting. In an adorable kind of way.
“As I said, it’s your awareness of what is happening around you at all times. This skill is very useful for warriors, but in your case, it is even more so. The more aware you are of the battlefield, the more information you will have at your disposal, allowing you to make better decisions and subsequently gain the upper hand.”
Wagging his tail excitedly, Arturus nodded his head vigorously, taking care to remember that. Out of all his children, the most cheerful one was certainly Arturus. “And how do I work on that?”
Smit laughed at that question and shook his head. “Your senses boy, your senses. You must train your sense of hearing, sight, and smell. Feel the air around you. Be aware of everything. That’s all I can tell you. I am no warrior or general. I cannot teach you beyond that.”
“Yes! I will start on that right away!” And with those words, he bounced up with excitement. He quickly turned around, and just as he was preparing to run out of the room, he paused and looked back at his father with concern. “But Father, promise me one thing. Don’t spend every second you are awake thinking about the adventurers. It can’t be good for you. You should have a moment to have fun!”
“Bah, you are eight hundred years too early to tell me what to do, little rascal,” Smit harrumphed as he rolled his eyes. “I am not going to have a breakdown any time soon.”
“Father...” Arturus whined, his face looking so innocent and sweet, like a puppy begging for attention. It did not matter that he was as large as a bear, or if he had the strength to topple trees. Right now, he just looked like a big baby pup to Smit.
“This little... bah, fine,” Smit said as he shifted his eyes away from his son. Those full and innocent eyes were too effective, even though Arturus had done it only subconsciously. “I’ll... pick a project to relax briefly. But only briefly! Now git. Go practice.”
Nodding excitedly, Arturus seemed to pick up on the fact that he shouldn’t push his luck, and promptly bolted out of the room, leaving Smit to shake his head at him as a small smile started to spread over his face.
“So, this is what it’s like to have children... Not bad,” he chuckled as he stretched his hands before him.
“Right, well. I suppose if I am to have a small fun project, I better start it now. Those adventurers should be stuck there for a good while,” he said to himself as he rolled his shoulders, creating a sound of gravel slowly rolling down a hill. “Let’s begin the expansion. But I’ll have a little fun with it.”
Humming thoughtfully, he tried to convince himself that technically, expanding the dungeon for the purpose of having fun was not work. Earning more mana was merely a biproduct of the process. Besides, there was one room that he had been wanting to make for a while now— just never had the chance. If he had to take a break, he might as well start with that. It was time to create a distillery!
Clearing his throat, Smit began to hum a tune, letting his voice bounce through the walls. A thought sneaked into his head as he felt the mana gather up around him, rising up from his core as it became ready to do his bidding. Now that he thought of it... perhaps he should make gifts for his children too? They had no concept of what a birthday was, but he felt that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to introduce it to them. The only issue with teaching them about the concept of a birthday was that the actual date of their births troubled him a bit. Should he celebrate when he first created them? Or when they had finally gained full sentience? Or maybe the day he had accepted them as his children?
Decisions, decisions.
Stroking his beard as he frowned, Smit mulled these thoughts for a while, only to decide to put it off for the moment. He had precious little free time to do something for fun, after all. Thus, he guided his mana outwards, and began to carve a new room right beside his core room. A distillery would be very welcome in any event, from celebrating a birth to a toast to the dead, many occasions could use a good drink. Hopefully, once this entire ordeal was over, Smit could take his time to plan a proper celebration with all his children. Wouldn’t that be something?
Happy days were coming their way.
Hopefully.
Chapter 13
Staring out into darkness, Vich gripped his iron mace tightly with one hand, the other fidgeting with a pouch tied to his belt. Something about the dungeon unnerved him the further he went into it. Everything seemed so... perfect. So unnaturally immaculate and meticulously cared for. Everything was placed and arranged by expert design, and seemed to be crafted out of fine materials with flawless execution. It almost felt like he had walked into the halls of a forgotten castle instead of a dungeon in the middle of nowhere.
Where were the crude halls and the leaking ceilings? What happened to having crooked wooden supports or obvious paths? The simple traps and the stupid goblins were nowhere to be found either. Was this truly the fourth floor of a dungeon of not even a year in age? What kind of young dungeon had armed kobolds with balanced spears, or hallucinogenic darts that could turn a grown man insane, even if just for a moment?
To call this dungeon unnatural would be an understatement.
The dungeon itself was an enigma wrapped in surprises, most of which were quite painful or unpleasant. But those that were not, usually left him aghast with shock or surprise. Vich had never considered himself a man with an inclination towards art, and he considered craftsmanship little more than a trifling hobby that was reserved for those without the strength to have a real profession.
However, since coming here he could not help but let his eyes wander over the details of the dungeon. Not that he had much choice in the matter. The entirety of the dungeon’s maze was a giant gallery of art and danger, and he had plenty of time to admire it. If he had chosen to not observe the artwork, he would have had to close his eyes to do so. This, of course, would have been essentially an invitation for death to whisk his soul away from his body.
“Whatcha lookin’ at Vich?” a gruff voice called from behind. Turning his head to look at his comrade, Vich laid eyes upon Eric. A bear of a man covered in scale armour. His ice-blue eyes accentuated the lazy smile he carried on his face. It was hard to believe that this man with such a lazy smile was the same person that could wrestle and kill a mountain lion with his bare hands.
“Nothin’,” Vich grunted, turning his head back to look around him as he stroked his short, orange beard.
“Come now, don’t be so cold to this old man,” Eric said as he stepped up beside him and clapped his broad shoulders.
“What’s wrong with you, Eric. Who calls ‘emselves an old man at a mere thirty years of age?” he grunted, his eyes still scanning his surroundings despite talking to the other man.
“I am thirty-two,” Eric said as he rolled his shoulders. “A good five years older than you. Makes me feel old. Pretty soon I may even retire from the adventuring life.”
“Noted,” Vich replied, his voice unaltered despite Eric’s efforts.
“Let me guess, then,” Eric said as he rolled his eyes at his teammate. He knew very well that when Vich became like this there was a good chance that he was worried with the task at hand. “It’s the dungeon isn’t it? I couldn’t blame you if it was. It ain’t exactly yer standard baby dungeon.”
“What else would it be?” Vich retorted as his mouth twisted in annoyance. “This ain’t natural Eric. Not at all. And I don’t mean just the pretty images and odd lighting. I feel like there’s eyes on me all the time, from all angles. It makes my skin crawl.”
“I feel it too,” Eric murmured in his gruff voice, leaning in closer to talk with Vich. “It’s like the walls are watching us. There ain't a single good reference point in this maze either. All the halls look the same to me, all the places seem to lead nowhere. We’ve been in this dungeon already a week or perhaps more, and we have barely made it to the fourth floor. It is as you say. It ain't normal. This place be cursed, mark my words.”
“Bah. This place is about as cursed as your leathery rear end,” Vich snorted. “Don’t be daft. This place may be odd, but it ain’t cursed. The guild master would never send us to a cursed place without a proper warning. What kind of baby dungeon is cursed from the start anyway? That’s the stuff of legends and scary stories you tell your kids.”
“Stop bickering, boys,” a thick feminine voice interrupted their conversation. Behind them, their teammate, the black haired Yaldi with her heavy crossbow, stared them down with her steely gaze. “Shelly’s spell is about expired and the countess is nearly ready as well. The moment the countess has finished, we will resume the mission.”
“That’s just another thing about this accursed place,” Vich said with clear dissatisfaction. “Ain't it weird that there are places that seemed designed for us to relieve ourselves? Nice as it is, it’s mighty convenient. Too convenient.”
“Aye, that has been on my mind since the beginning,” Eric replied with a nod. “Them rooms even have the atmosphere down to an art. Soft moss, dim lights, but not too dim, just right to relax and let you shit like a king I say. There are even plants in there to dampen the smell if you happen to have dropped a big load. More than that, if you leave and come back, the shit has been all cleared away like nothing ever happened.”
“Listen to you talk like you know squat about ambience. Since when do you pay attention to any of it?” Vich retorted, but promptly followed up with an agreement. “But you are right. It’s like the dungeon wants to stay clean...What do you think would happen if someone just decided to relieve ‘emselves on the hallway?”
“Enough!” Yaldi barked at them with a stern voice, with a tone in her voice that left no room for arguments. “There will be no talk of that in front of the countess. We want to gain her favor, not her disdain. Forget about the natural outhouses that the dungeon has placed too! Call it coincidence, intelligent design, or chalk it up to the dungeon core having a phobia of filth, or to the influence of a powerful ancient mage. I don’t care what you do, but do not dare to excrete in the hallways in front of the countess or I will hack off one of your family jewels with your own axe, yah hear?”
Shivering slightly, Eric nodded vigorously while Vich harrumphed loudly, but remained otherwise quiet. While not the largest of the crew, Yaldi was certainly intimidating when considering her imposing physique and intense eyes that seemed to penetrate deep into the soul. In a sense, she reminded Vich of his mother, which just made that glare of hers that much more effective.
Deciding to not dwell on such thoughts longer, Vich opted to redouble his efforts in remaining vigilant. His eyes flicked from place to place, scanning for shadows that had not been there before he was distracted. Even though he was somewhat anxious at the moment, his years of experience as an adventurer had ingrained in him a sense of caution. He refused to be jumped by some odd creature that may have decided to sneak up on him.
“Well then,” a second womanly voice rang out, this one with a tone much more haughty and smooth than Yaldi’s heavy voice. A woman stepped out of the small room with soft steps, bringing up a fan to cover the lower half of her face. She was none other than Countess Malak, a wealthy noblewoman whose physique was decidedly on the heavier end of the spectrum. “Thanks for waiting on me. Yaldi dearest, would you please get your spellmaster and let us be on our way? I would hate to keep the company idling away. It seems that their thoughts wander into unpleasant places when they have time to use those withered minds.”
The woman looked over Vich and Eric with clear disgust and disdain. It was quite amazing how she could express so much with just her eyes, while maintaining her stone-cold demeanour and practiced elegant walk. She was rumored to dabble in the mysterious art of curses and jinxes, magical arts that were for the most part insidious in nature. Countess Malak had a reputation of inciting bad luck on her enemies, and though it had not been confirmed to be due to a curse or jinx, the suspicion clung to her like a dark shroud that refused to disappear.
“Of course, countess,” Yaldi said with a polite bow, and jogged a short distance over to a sickly-thin looking female dressed in purple robes.
“I hate her attitude,” Vich grumbled under his breath, his nose flaring out as he snorted in contempt.
“You’d think a noble lass like her would be more polite to tha’ people working under her,” Eric said in agreement. “We just be poor folk doing what we’re paid to do after all. Who’s she to mind what we talk about during our wee little breaks?”
“Lass? What lass?” Vich said before continuing in a hushed voice. “She hasn’t been a lass for a bleeding long time Eric. She could be your mother.”
“Bah. My mother was not stuffed like her,” Eric countered. “My mother was nothing like her, she was—”
“Ah!” A short scream interrupted the two friends as they turned around to see the countess holding her shoulder, a small trickle of blood slipping past her pale fingers.
“Enemies!” Vich roared, leaping forwards towards the countess as something long and green flew at her. In a flash, his mace was in his hand, smashing aside a snake that was launching itself towards her face. With Eric by his side, the two of them stood shoulder to shoulder, a wall between the countess and more assailants. Before them, two brute golems were making their way towards them, lumbering onwards with heavy steps.
“Yaldi!” Vich called out loudly. “We have timber coming in!”
“Defensive positions! Prepare to engage the enemy head on while Shelly gets the corrosive spell ready! Move, move! Before—Agh!”
A shout emanated from her lips as a sharp pain penetrated into her back. Gasping for breath, Yaldi staggered forwards, falling to her knees. Despite the surprise, Yaldi aggressively turned around, trying to see the attacker and pay it back in kind. Unfortunately for her, there was nothing to be seen except for a slim hand that disappeared into the shadows of the wall behind her. She saw it for only an instant, but it was enough to confirm that there was a treacherous person amongst the competitors. Someone willing to sabotage others to take the prize.
“Yaldi!” Shelly shouted with concern, her spell interrupted just as Vich and Eric met the enemies head on.
“Focus!” Yaldi shouted back. “We don’t have time for distractions. The brutes hit too heavily to take them down with the countess this close. Start up your spell! Get it ready again and fire it!”
With a mouth struggling to articulate words, Shelly merely nodded and swallowed her worry as she began to mutter arcane language at high speeds. She had to hurry and she knew it. The two boys, as imposing as they were with their weapons and armour, were dwarfed by the two golem brutes, and could only keep them from advancing. Their chances of actually defeating the brutes on their own were four in ten, or fifty-fifty at best if they used up their precious consumable items to boost their own performance.
“Any day now would be great, lass!” Eric shouted as his axe bit into the shoulder of one of the wooden golems briefly, just before he was forced to pull back his weapon, lest he lose it to the golem’s movements.
“Less talking more hacking, ya motherless twit!” Vich shouted at him as he knocked away a blow that had been directed at his head, before countering with his own blow to the elbow. His mighty smash connected, and the wooden joint creaked and cracked under the force, but it didn’t even slow down the brute’s follow-up strike, forcing Vich to defend once more. His mace was not the best weapon to fight against wood, but its bladed spikes at least managed to chip and scar the thick wood of the golem.
